


The Way We Smile

by Valkyrune



Category: DCU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 01:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkyrune/pseuds/Valkyrune
Summary: My rendition of Gotham, Batman, Harley, and Joker; it's a mix of Suicide Squad and the classic cartoons we all grew up with.This entire story is based on Psychology, and on the maddening effects of love, lust, loss, and life itself.Get ready for a codependent relationship roller coaster bound to excite and enthrall.





	1. A Match Made In Arkham

Harleen Quinzel

Born a high functioning Aspergers, she was always different from others. As a child, she was an observer, carefully watching others, examining them. She learned quickly how others behaved in social settings, and mimicked those that seemed most successful.  
Privately, she held interests in all things macabre: Addams Family, Beetlejuice, all things Tim Burton, etc. However, her deepest fascination continued to be the observance of human behavior and the mind. Publicly speaking? She was a preppy, cheery, go-getter; she was a popular girl, on the cheerleading team, debate team, gymnastics team, and more. Straight As, a perfect student; not a bad thing could be said about her, for in public, she kept her perfect mask up for all to see.

She graduated, with honors, and gained multiple scholarships for excellence. She attended the top universities, starting college classes as young as 15 in her freshman year of high school, she was able to finish her Doctorate at 25.

Immediately after her graduation, she began to work at Arkham Asylum, eager to earn her keep. She was obsessed with the abnormal minds within, and studying them became her greatest pleasure.

After only a year she had managed to study all of the infamous villains of Gotham: Catwoman, Bane, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Killer Croc, Clayface, Mr.Freeze, and so many others. She even visited Arkham Penitentiary to visit the Penguin. While not criminally insane, his mind was quite interesting to delve into. Last of all though, was her favorite, the Joker.

Her first time seeing the Joker in person was when Batman himself had dragged the beaten and bruised man in. That day she learned that whenever the Joker was brought in, the highest of security protocols was conducted. He was locked in an isolated room, not allowed any free time, and not allowed to talk with other patients.

Arkham was already split, between the criminally insane, and the normal civilian patients. However, the Joker had his own, underground level, dedicated to nothing but keeping him locked up and away from the world. And immediately, Harleen was intrigued.

It took her many months of begging for the chance to be the Joker's psychologist. However, her superiors did not think such an inexperienced doctor should be subjected to the harsh, verbal psychological torment the Joker could weave. The director of Arkham Asylum said, multiple times, he was merely saving Harleen from a fate she could not imagine. Countless employees of Arkham became patients themselves once the Joker spun his web within their minds. Yet, as fewer and fewer doctors were willing to work with the Joker, the director could no longer refuse Dr. Harleen Quinzel's request.  
Finally, the good Doctor was able to study her favorite patient, the Joker.

~😍~

As Harleen enters the therapy room, she sees the Joker lying on a chaise lounge, with his wrists and ankles strapped down tightly. The Joker turns his head to face Harleen as she walks in, and his complacent smile widens into a toothy grin. "Well hello there Doctor dear. What a joy it is to have a new therapist to speak to." Harleen looks him over and immediately begins to study his every movement, his very speech pattern, and every expression that crosses his face. Little did she know, of course, he was doing the same to her.

"Hello Joker, my name is Dr. Harleen Quinzel and I will be your psychologist from here on out," She greets, giving him a small smile and a short wave before sitting down in the chair directly next to the chaise lounge. "Is there anything you wish to discuss with me? Keep in mind, all conversations between you and I are confidential, unless you divulge information that could pose a threat to yourself or others."

Immediately the Joker bursts into laughter, manic and disturbing. As he calms down, he gives Harleen a joyous glance, "Why my dear Doctor Quinzel, if I were to filter out any conversation containing plausible or possible harm to myself or others... why... why we'd have nothing to talk about!"

Harleen smirks slightly, bemused. "Well then, my dear Joker, as long as you understand such conversation topics are privy to those who ask, you may divulge them to me."

The Joker gives Harleen a curious stare, and he cocks his head to the side just so. "Now, Doctor Quinzel, I have to ask, why the formal tone? Aren't we just two friends, sharing in delightful conversation? I hope you don't find my current state to be... frightening." And just like that, he gives a truly frightening grin, causing Harleen to giggle slightly.

"Now Joker, all jokes aside, is there anything you'd like to discuss with me? I'm here as long as you'd like." She sits with notebook in hand, her pen waiting pertinently upon the page as she perks her ears for what may come forth.

Instead, however, he sits silently and watches her, his smile never once slipping from his face. At first, it unnerves Harleen, but soon it leaves her feeling soft. His eyes quickly dart across her figure, sizing her up, determining her every weakness. "Are you a mother Doctor Quinzel?" He finally asks, his smile as light and grim as she had ever seen it.

"No, Joker, I'm not. Never even had a serious boyfriend, much less a child." She looks down, momentarily embarrassed. She knew it was important to be as open and honest with him as she expected him to be with her.

She watches his brows rise slightly at her confession, before he turns his head away from her to face the wall. "I never knew my mother," His voice is low and grave, yet soft to the ears. "Died in childbirth I was told." Harley begins, slowly, to write: [Patient's mother died in childbirth.] "My father never remarried, just me and Pops all my life. He was a drunk... my father... Pops would always come home smelling like a bar." He stops talking and turns to look at Harleen, who had become so enthralled with his story she stopped writing. "Were you close with your father?" He asks, a solemn expression on his face.

Harleen doesn't quite know how to answer, searching her thoughts for memories of her dad. She lightly shakes her head, "My dad was a military man when I was growing up. Never saw much of him. And when I did, boy he was strict. Still is when I see him. Nicer to my younger brothers, but I think retirement softened him up a bit."

The Joker nods his head a bit, smiling softly once more. "Yeah, my Pops was strict. One day," He chuckles lightly to himself, reminiscing. "One day Pops came home, stinking drunk, raving like a loon and in such a bad mood. He was so mad..." Again he chuckles, "All I could think of was the day he brought me to the circus... so happy, laughing at clowns. So, of course, I dressed up like a clown. I wore Pops' pants and shoes and did a little act for him, and for one glorious moment, he laughed... And then I messed up. Used a banana peel for my act and got some banana smooshed in the pants. Oh, he flipped. Chucked a bottle straight towards my head... landed too."

He stops speaking, stops staring at his hands, and looks Harleen straight in her eyes. She hadn't realized until right then, but her hands are covering her mouth as she stares at him in shock. Harleen lowers her hands, and shakes her head, "That's... that's horrible."

The Joker nods his head solemnly, a grimace clear across his face. "It was a good lesson I suppose: A joke gone awry will end in nothing but pain," His voice darkens and his eyes narrow, piercing her soul. "People like the Batman and my Pops? They're all the same. Can't take a joke."

Harleen scribbles some more in her notebook: [Connects Batman to his father. Drunk father (Pops). Abusive. Circus clown connection?}

"Have some good notes, Doctor?"

Harleen looks up from her notebook to see the Joker's gaze eagerly attempting to read her notebook. She could tell he was desperate, yet his voice remained calm. "Merely a repetition of your own words Joker," She tranquilly responds, attempting to mollify him before any antics can begin.

His straining attempts cease, and he looks her over once more. "Are you scared Ms. Quinzel?"

Startled, she blinks twice, before cocking her head to the side and raising a brow questioningly, "Of?"

He laughs, a deep chortle, before giving her an absolutely deranged grin, "Why of me of course! Of being in a locked room with an unhinged man responsible for countless murders! A man fully aware of his actions, who simply does not care for or value human life!" He cackles once more, his crazed gaze never leaving her.

And she chuckles. The Joker's expression drops to confusion, as the petite blonde in front of him laughs wholeheartedly. She gathers her wits, and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, "Ahem, sorry. But no... no, I don't think I'm afraid. Actually..." She ponders a moment, biting the end of her pen as she stares into space, leaning forward. "Actually I'm more curious. Believe it or not, I begged to be your therapist. Your mind... I'm not sure, it simply intrigues me." She gives him a smile and leans back in her seat, "I hope that doesn't bother you."

But it did. She wasn't afraid, and the Joker took that as a personal challenge.

🃏

Across the next few days he tried his best attempts to frighten her, recounting story after story of treacherous atrocities. Yet, surprisingly, it didn't phase her. Each day she'd laugh a little more than the last, and each day the Joker would try a little harder too.

Harleen advocated for better treatment for the Joker, much to the director's chagrin. She wholeheartedly believed better living conditions within Arkham was an important step towards the Joker's recovery. She was the only person who believed the Joker was even capable of recovery.

Over the next few weeks she was able to get him a variety of things to make him more comfortable: playing cards, a chess set, and even a tv. It was on the other side of the bulletproof glass to his room, and every time Harleen went to see him, she'd see the news, and she'd see Batman. It was clear he was an obsession, and Harleen couldn't quite crack what about the vigilante angered the Joker so much. He hadn't even surfaced as "The Joker" until Batman showed up. It made Harleen wonder who the Joker was before all of this, before Gotham's "Dark Knight" rose to power.

Finally, after many sessions, and many pleads to the director, Harleen was allowed to continue her sessions with the Joker completely free from restraints. She was convinced it would be a huge breakthrough with him, showing him that she wasn't afraid of him and giving him the chance to really feel like a person in the presence of a peer.

Eager to start the next session, Harleen glances at herself in the mirror of her office. Her glasses catch in the light, and she furrows her brows at them. She didn't need the glasses, they weren't prescription. She wore them because they made her look smarter, commanded respect amongst her peers. They couldn't call her an airhead or a ditz, say she was too pretty to be a doctor... 

Memories of college make her shiver, thoughts of her sorority sisters' cruel comments. 'You should really think of a higher class job. Pretty face like that, hell you'd make a great trophy wife.' Her 'Big' always said that, and always pushed Harleen towards the boys in their brother fraternity. It wasn't until she started wearing her fake glasses that people stopped harassing her. She traded in her pleated miniskirts for black pencil skirts, her halter tops for silk blouses. The moment she changed her image, the moment she changed her mask, she got the respect she sought after.

Harleen wonders, to herself, if the Joker knew they were fake glasses or not. She grabs her notebook, and with one final preen of her hair, she dashes off for her daily session with the Joker.

She waltzes right into the room, and upon looking through the bulletproof glass wall, she sees with disdain yet another channel doing a Batman special. "Ahem," She clears her throat, glancing down at the Joker, who's seated ever so casually in the armchair, watching the tv.

He grins, "Why hello there Harleen my dear. Wanna take a seat?" He gestures towards his lap, and Harleen rolls her eyes. He seemed quite pleased without the restraints. "Oh don't be shy. It's been ages since I've had real, human, contact. C'mon! Take a seat!" He pats his leg, again making a grand gesture, and for a split second, Harleen almost goes along. A small voice inside her says {dontchya do it. DO NOT SIT! It's a traaaap!} and she listens vehemently.

She shakes her head, a small scowl on her sweet face. "No, Joker, I can't do that. But don't get up on my account, I'll just sit on the chaise." She perches gracefully on the chaise lounge, crossing her legs elegantly and raising a brow high in the Joker's direction. "However," She adjusts her glasses. "I will have to ask you to turn off the tv for the duration of our session Joker. I do need your undivided attention."

For a moment, a gleaming glare glowers from his gaze, startling Harleen, before he breaks out into another grin and artfully turns off the television. "I suppose I could do you the favor. After all, no cuffs," He raises his wrists, and sits back in his seat once more. "So, dear doctor, what to discuss today..."

He looks her over, and she does the same to him, both studying the other studying each other. "Well... I suppose we could discuss-"

"So why exactly did you waltz right in here, with a dangerous homicidal maniac that isn't restrained?" He asks, interrupting her and resting his head on his hands, contemplatively awaiting her response.

"I-I... Well, I thought you'd prefer it this way. It can't be comfortable to be restrained. And... well I would find it humiliating. I would never want to make you feel that way Joker." She gives him a heartfelt smile and he grins.

"My dear Harleen, that's so... so... em-pathetic of you," He stands, tilting his head. "Have you ever been in love Harleen?" Stunned, Harleen slowly shakes her head no. "Oh it's a... well... your heart begins to quicken, your hands... they begin to shake." He holds his hands up, staring, from them to her. "And you get this tight feeling in your throat... you can't breathe."

And with that he lunges forward, his hands wrapping around Harleen's throat, pinning her against the chaise lounge as he crouches above her. His grip tightening ever so slightly, each second getting tighter, and his eyes menacingly pierce her gaze. As their eyes interlock, his facade of anger begins to weaken; she isn't afraid, and instead, Harleen looks up at the Joker with a gaze of pure enamor. Her eyes are wide, her lips are parted, and she looks at him with such a spellbound stare that the Joker releases her neck, falling back into his chair.

"A-A joke, my dear Harleen. Just a joke..." He mumbles, before turning on the tv once more. From there, Harleen sits back up, and straightens her clothing and hair. Her glasses lie beside her, and she stares at them, not wanting to pick them up, not wanting to put on the mask.

"You have an innate need for control, Mr. Joker. A need to cause so much chaos... so much destruction, so that you're the only thing left standing." Her sullen voice sounds strange to the Joker, almost as if she's...

"You sound disappointed, Doctor Quinzel."

She looks up at him, her petulant expression remaining plastered on her face. "Don't do that, don't flip it. Don't try to control every moment. I was real with you, I've been nothing but real with you. I treat you with dignity, with respect... and you go and treat me like a... like a what? A foolish toy or puppy you can play with? Do you want to kill me or toy with me?"

"Yes," He responds suddenly, his exhausted form slouched along the armchair. 

Harleen rolls her eyes, "Sure, kill me. Do it right here, right now. Will that make you feel better? To be restrained and chained again?"

"Yes," His voice darkens, a grave and deep sound that betrays the deepest recesses of his soul.

Harleen shakes her head, "I thought we were getting somewhere..."

He laughs, a sarcastic, half-laugh that leaves a wretched taste on his tongue, "Doctor, not a word spoken about my past is true. I'm not a person, I'm a laugh. I'm a house of mirrors, so illusionary! What you thought you saw was just a reflection of what you wanted to see."

"I know that clown story was bull Joker. But you're wrong. It wasn't a reflection of what I wanted to see. It was a reflection of what you don't want me to see." With that Harleen stands up, and shakes her head, thoroughly disgusted. "Enjoy your Batman binge watch, Joker, I'll see you tomorrow at-"

"No," Joker growls, standing up with a vehement fury.

Harleen raises an annoyed brow, "Oh?"

He walks up to her, getting awfully close, staring down at her from his height, "I don't believe I'll be needing a high school cheerleader pepping me along, Miss Quinzel. Gimme an 'F', gimme a 'U', gimme a-"

"Oh go fuck yourself, ya wannabe clown," She growls herself, letting a sneer escape her lips.

With that, she leaves, and the Joker stands there, frustrated and angry. "Little pain in my-" He looks over to the chaise lounge to see her discarded glasses, and he picks them up, examining the frameless pair. "Fake. She's so... fake." He crushes the glass in his hands, and watches as the crimson blood wells along his pale skin. "No more of that."

🃏

It's a week before Harleen sees the Joker again, and she dreads the next session.


	2. A Haunting Smile

It's a week before Harleen sees the Joker again, and she dreads the next session.

Harleen takes in a deep breath at the door to the Joker's cell. Once she opened it, she knew she'd see him there, unrestrained, lounging about, and most likely watching yet another tv special on the Batman.

It was enough to make her head ache.

Thoughts rushed through her mind every which way; recalling their previous session brought shivers down her back and goosebumps across her flesh. He had refused to see her ever since.

Today he asked for another session.

With a swipe of her badge, and a twist of the doorknob, Harleen entered the cell, and through the bulletproof glass there he was, the Joker, reclined in the chaise lounge casually, with his hand folded across his torso, and his eyes staring straight up to the ceiling, peacefully.

He had a light smile on his scarred face, a serene expression calmly set into his features. It was odd to see him so... tranquil. Usually, Harleen mused to herself, he had this sort of... mania surrounding him. A manic energy that could frenzy itself upon a whim.

And the Joker was all too aware that she had entered his domain.

"A pleasure to see you again, Doctor Quinzel," He softly called out, not once moving his line of sight from the ceiling of his cell. Harleen pauses a moment in the doorway, unsure of how to go forward. Should she also act as if nothing had happened? Should she be pleasant? Or should she allow herself to be blunt with him, as she had before? And without a moment's notice, the Joker sits up, as if spring-loaded, his serene expression still upon his face, yet now carrying a rather disturbing aura. "Oh, now don't tell me the brave little Harleen is finally afraid of me?" His voice carries a lilt, and it's enough to have her drop her guard, and any previous notions of fear and uncertainty.

With her free hand on her hip, her clipboard-laden one hanging by her side, Harleen raises a brow towards the Joker, a wry smile on her face, "I thought we've been over this Mr. Joker? If you're going to kill me, by all means, do so. I won't stop treating you simply because you find delight in terrifying others."

The Joker laughs, whole-heartedly, and leans back into the chaise lounge's supportive back once more as the good doctor enters the second doorway into the Joker's abode.

She sits daintily in the armchair and pulls a pen out from her coat pocket. "Now Mr. Joker," She begins, looking up at him freely, without false glass shielding her eyes. "Where would you like to begin today's session?"

Harleen felt adamant about keeping things professional between them, not quite embarrassed about their last session's out-of-control behavior, more disappointed in herself for losing her cool. She had no clue why she had felt... whatever she had felt, and she was determined to not let things get to that point again.

"I want to talk about you, Harleen."

The Joker's tender voice drew a sharp gaze from her blue eyes, studying his every movement, every placement of every part of his casual frame. Yet again, her brow raises to him, questioningly. "Oh?" Her tone conveys her weariness, her suspicion.

He watches her delicate features as they quickly dart from his smile to his eyes, to his body's relaxed composure. He knew she was on alert, and enjoyed seeing her tension. "How could I not? I've spent quite some time thinking about you down here."

"I'm sure Batman takes up far more space in your thoughts," Harleen quickly bites out, immediately regretting the jealous tone and bratty response.

But the Joker had already caught it.

He chuckles so deeply his body crunches as he holds his sides in laughter. He wipes a tear from his eyes and throws a devilish grin her away, tilting his head to the side. With a taunting tone, he speaks, "Why, little Harley! Daddy has plenty of love in his heart for you both!" His hands mockingly clutch at his chest before motioning towards her, from his heart to her, with grandiose intent.

Harleen is unable to stop herself from giggling and returning his actions with a droll expression and more relaxed demeanor. "Harley?" She asks, then biting the end of her pen whilst nervously awaiting a response.

The Joker's smile warms and once more he relaxes in the chaise lounge. "Harleen sounds so prim, so... so proper. What you pretend to be, Ms. Quinzel." His eyes narrow towards her as he watches her reaction. She seems both thoughtful, yet taken aback all at once, truly contemplating the meaning behind his words. "At this point, can't we be real with one another, Harley?"

It is in this moment that Harleen knows, if she allows the nickname to stick, their relationship will forever be tangent to professional. It is in this moment, she knows, if she does not correct the familiarity, she will never regain her doctor/patient relationship. And yet, still, the words she had not planned to say escape her lips: "Whatever you say, Mr. J."

The giggle, mixed with her sweet, lilting songbird voice, is enough to tell the Joker he's already won the war within her. Whether Harleen knew it or not, from that point on, she would always be Harley, the facade of the studious and respectable Harleen falling way to the mercurial personality of the soon-to-be smitten Harley Quinn.

His voice gains a raspy tone, as if surprised by her response, even though he'd been counting on it all along. "Oh? Whatever I say?" His devilish expression causes her to clamor up, staring down, embarrassed, at her clipboard. She hadn't meant to say it quite like that... or at all for that matter. Somehow, he kept doing this, shattering her wall, her guard, within a moment, only for her to realize just how vulnerable she was. It was devastating for her, a person who had so carefully constructed her personality to fit the life she was building for herself. Harley couldn't help but wonder if this man, this... this deranged man, would be the end of her.

For some reason, she couldn't wait to find out.

🃏

Slowly, her trust in the homicidal clown had grown, as he had continuously shattered her walls, her guard, and made her feel accepted for who she truly was, the girl beneath the facade.

Her latest session is the fruition of all of the Joker's hard work, as she lies upon the chaise lounge, with him in the armchair, holding a yellow legal pad as she talks.

Harley talks for an hour, chronicling her childhood of secrecy, of hiding her neurology books from her cheerleading friends, of reinventing herself to climb the social ladders in her life, to obtain whatever she wanted.

"I guess I first knew I was different the very first day of kindergarten. I couldn't hold a conversation with those kids! I spent lunchtime with the teacher chatting with her! I just... never could relate to the others..."

Her eyes well with tears and the Joker holds back the urge to wipe them away as they fall.

And the Joker feels a white-hot anger in the pit of his stomach at that urge. 

Harley sniffles, and wipes her cheeks clean of the salty abominations, the Joker's green eyes trained on the glimmer of light reflecting against the wet streaks they left upon her skin. "You know you're a great listener Mr. J," Harley muses, before laughing. "You could have been a psychologist!"

The Joker cackles, throwing his head back at the comment. "Ah, but all that school work? Harley, I have much better things to be doing with my time!"

She catches it before he does, the malicious intent behind those words, the secret they seem to hold. She feels like she knows, in that exact moment, what would be coming all too soon.

And sure enough, that night, the Joker made a daring escape from Arkham Asylum, a single red rose, with seemingly glowing green tips on its petals, was left in Harley's office. 

🌹

He was missing for three weeks before turning up on the news, having attempted to blow up Gotham University's sorority house with Joker Gas. In particular, the Alum Advocational Office, where a certain 'Big' of Harley's worked, was targeted, with the 'Big' having been tied up inside, slathered in Joker-esque makeup, and poisoned with Joker Gas.

To all in the city, his message of the world's corruption and vanity struck a chord, inciting terror. Makeup sales certainly plummeted, in fear of being the next target. All but Harley, who stared at the tv, and her phone, nearly constantly, waiting for further news on the Joker. He had escaped Arkham, nearly killed her 'Big', and then escaped Batman, now missing once more. She didn't think it a coincidence that his latest escapade involved her past, and while she was concerned, it wasn't for her sorority sisters, or for the city. No, she was concerned for the Joker.

What was he up to? What was he hoping to accomplish like this? Was it all a message for her? She had sleepless nights, she was a wreck.

Shakily pouring herself a cup of coffee in the Asylum's visitor's and employee cafeteria, Harley takes a deep breath. She was trying to keep it together, trying not to appear out of sorts, but even her colleagues were starting to notice.

*Dr. Harleen Quinzel, please meet with the Director in his office. That is all.*

All eyes turned to her in the cafeteria at the announcement over the loudspeaker. Her shaking hands only worsen, and she grabs her to-go cup of coffee, clutching it tightly as she walks nervously out of the cafeteria and towards the director's office.

When she opens the door, she's startled, eyes wide in fright. Beside the director, who is sitting in his chair behind his desk, are two uniformed police officers, with a third person, a detective if she were to venture a guess, leaning against the wall. Hesitantly she enters the office, trembling as she closes the office door. "S-sir?" She asks, eyes avoiding the police at all costs. 

"Dr. Quinzel, relax. Here, have a seat," the director motions towards a chair in front of his desk. She moves to sit, and the director's calm, smiling face vaguely reminds her of the Joker, an ache hitting her chest. "You're not in trouble, I've called you in here out of concern." Her brow raises itself inquisitively, eyes now shooting towards the detective to her left, whose gaze hadn't moved off of her since she entered. The director holds his hands up in an attempt to alleviate her worry. "Myself, as well as your colleagues, have all noticed that since the Joker's escape, you've been on edge. We're worried about your physical and mental health. Detective," He nods his head towards the man, who stands away from the wall now, sitting beside Harley in the parallel chair.

"Dr. Quinzel, a pleasure." He gives a curt nod. "The Joker's activity has been odd this time around, and our task force has noticed him targeting women who were a part of your sorority. All of the women who have been gassed have been blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and apart of the same Alum group as yourself." Harley's blood goes cold as ice, a chill running up her spine. She knew it wasn't a coincidence. "Dr. Quinzel, we at GPD are concerned that the Joker is going to target you soon. He clearly has developed an obsession of some sort, and we fear that if we don't take the necessary actions, you two will end up gassed." Harley doesn't move, doesn't flinch, simply staring at the detective, unmoving, frozen. Her eyes had remained wide since opening the door, and everything felt like an out-of-body experience, like it wasn't really happening to her. "Dr. Quinzel? I need you to be aware of the seriousness of the situation you're in. Three of your sorority sisters are now dead. with five other having been hospitalized and successfully saved. We know you've spent a significant amount of time around the Joker. Is there anything, anything at all you can tell us to help us catch him? For your safety, and others."

Everything the detective was saying barely hit her ears. She blinks a few times before shaking her head and sitting back in her chair. She takes a sip of her coffee. Hot, with vanilla creamer. Usually, she wore red lipstick, which would stain her cup's lid. In her disheveled and sleep-deprived state, however, she left no stain, and she stared long and hard at the stainless lid. "No, I don't know anything." Her voice was clear, it held a certain sadness to it. "He never told me the truth about his past. It wasn't the focus of his therapy. He would always tell a fabricated story about his past, and we would delve into abstract concepts of thought, ethics, morality, etc." She looks up at the detective, who gives her a hardened expression. "My focus with him was to attempt to work out why he does what he does, and why he feels the need to cause chaos. I still think he's capable of rehabilitation, but the problem is he's intelligent, and intelligence mixing with mental illness can create complicated problems. He can accurately predict what people will do when faced with an impossible decision, and I think that the decisions that people make disappoint him. He causes chaos because he can, and because the chaos shines a magnifying glass on the world's problems, problems that he feels he can see more clearly than anyone else. I think he needs unpredictability in order to be rehabilitated, to be shown that not everyone behaves how he thinks they will, and to be shown that mob mentality can be fought against."

Everyone is silent as Harley finishes her analysis, and she takes another sip of her coffee, then standing up, feeling far calmer than she had a moment ago. She looks down her nose at the detective, an annoyed expression on her face. "I don't want a security detail, I don't want anyone doing drive-bys my apartment, and I can't offer up any more information than I already have. Putting a security detail on me is predictable behavior. If he comes to kill me, he'll be doing so with a security detail in mind. You'd only be putting your men in harm's way, and there's no point in it. I'd wish you luck in your task force, but let's be honest, Batman stands a better chance." She gives a brief nod to the director and then exits the office, leaving four stunned men in her wake.

And one curious.

For in secret Batman was listening in, a small bug in the office with him hidden away listening from a distance. Dr. Harleen Quinzel... she'd seen something in the Joker, something no one else was, and Batman couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. Regardless, he felt she was right. Any security detail on her, even one of his doing, would be predictable. The Joker did everything with intent, and he was certainly drawing vague attention Dr. Quinzel purposefully. He wanted people looking at her, wanted security on her. She was safer unguarded. He'd wait, and Batman knew it.


End file.
